The Fortune Killer
by Jack Borroughs
Summary: Lt Angela Dodson has to stop the Fortune Killer, a Ritualistic Serial Killer murdering people in ways mirroring Card of the Tarot Deck, and with John out of the country, she only has the help of a Rookie Detective and a Veteran Witch Doctor.
1. Prolgue: The Hanged Man

If you're wondering how come this instalment is here so soon, when I have only one chapter of Vol III up, the answer is that it is unrelated to the previous ones, and it takes place simultanesusly with Vol III, and will probebly tie up at the Epilogue. I don't own Det Xavier, Papa Midnite, John Constantine or Angela Dodson.

* * *

**A** posh Los Angeles loft was full of policemen at noon, who had answered to the call of a cleaning arriving to do the weekly cleaning of the flat when she was faced with the macabre sight in the apartment.

The Victim was Hawley Mathews, a prominent columnist for the Los Angeles Times, forty-two years old, single, killed from a wound in his abdomen.

Hawley Mathews had his right legs tied to the ceiling fan, his left leg was tied to his right so that they met at mid-thigh, both his hands were tied behind him, hi flesh was bruised from battery, but that wasn't what killed him, what caused his death was a great wound in his torso that was almost big enough for his entrails to fall out. And his index, middle and ring fingers were severed in both hands.

The policemen were collecting evidence, searching for fingerprints, taking pictures of the crime scene while an overweight detective was eating a ham sandwich said to his partner, "So, Suicide?"

His partner looked at him sideways and said, "You're disgusting, Libowitz."

Libowitz burst laughing, sending a shower of bits of ham and shreds of pickles ahead of him, "Tell me Xavier, where are we going to chalk out the body?"

"Detective," came the sound of an officer through Xavier's radio, "Lt. Dodson is here"  
"Great, send her in."

"Dodson? That chick is handling the case? Jeez." said Libowitz in disdain, "I've got scars older than her; I don't see why she got promoted anyway, what the deal on her?"

Xavier took a step back and then started talking, "Same old story, her dad was a cop, graduated at the top of her class at the academy, got into the force, had a mentally unstable sister who thought she saw Angels and god was talking to her. Over a year back, her sister took a swan dive off the roof of Ravenscar hospital and into a pool. Naturally she was hit hard, and even hooked up with this guy John Constantine, know him"  
"I heard his name around the precinct"  
"Well, he has a record the length of my arm, literally, he was in Ravenscar twice himself, and got arrested a dozen times and there was never enough evidence of prosecute him. His reputation is for all the weird stuff, satanic cults, ritualistic practices, the occult. Anyway, they date for a while and end up breaking up, and when she got back, she got real good, she was good to begin with, but when she got back she seemed like she had one hell of a lucky streak, and started focusing on these sort of crimes, which she solved without breaking a sweat, now every time there is a crime of this sort, they bring hr in."

Angela arrived, already putting on a pair of latex gloves on, she walked past the detectives, saying "Libowitz, Xavier, hello."

She walked directly to the hanged corpse, not showing in sign of intimidation, fear or even disgust, while Libowitz swallowed the last of his sandwich.

"Weird Broad, how did she know me? We never spoke!" said Libowitz.

Xavier ignored him and headed towards Angela, who was inspecting Hawley's fingers, "Any impressions?"

"Probably Satan worship related, see how only the thumb and pinky are left? It alludes to the devil's fist, a sign in devil worship"  
"Can't it be a distraction"  
"It they wanted a distraction they would have probably carved a pentagram into his back or '666' into his forehead, or gouged out his eyes. I say he was either a devil worshiper or pissed some off."

"Hey, Lieutenant," said Libowitz, "I wonder"  
"-where should we do the chalk out? That's funny."

Libowitz was dumbfounded.

"Any idea on his faith"  
"What"  
"His religion; Catholic, Jewish, Mus"  
"Oh," said Libowitz as he took a look through his file, "Raised as a Methodist, converted to Scientology"  
"Interesting."

Angela gazed upon is face, she then slipped his eyelids apart and looked at his dead eyes.

_'I am the one who comes to retrieve.'_

_The image came as a flood, she saw no less than twenty-one persons standing in a circle, images of ripping flesh, of a tower and two lovers, and truly disturbing sights of human carnage. She could_

_'I am the one who slays the future.'_

She saw an image of herself in a dark cave, looking up at a winged figure, an Angel offering his hand.

"Ange?"

Angela came out of it and looked at Xavier who had a look of worry, "Are you alright?"

What sh saw would haunt her for the rest of the day, and that voice that spoke to her sent a chiling shiver down her spine everytime she remembered it. She tried to look unfazed, but couldn't help from having her hand tremble, she let go of the face and commanded in a clam voice, "Take him down now."

A couple of officers went to untie the ropes bounding the victim to the ceiling, while Angela walked to the entrance, "What's wrong?" whispered Xavier.

She looked at him for a brief moment and whispered back,

"There will be others."

* * *

You like? In case you're wondering, there will be no John Constantine in this fic but some Papa Midnite. Review. Laud if you may, flame if you must, but please rview.


	2. Strength

Angela put the receiver to her ear and listened as the phone on the other side rang. 

"Hi. You've reached John Constantine, I'm out of town at the moment and not sure when I'll b back, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I'm back, unless the machine breaks or I ignore your message."

Angela rolled her eyes upon hearing the outgoing message, now she remembered why they broke up, she head the beep and said, "John, its Angela, I need your help with work."

Angela went to the closet and out several heavy boxes, loaded with books of varying age and size, though they all had a common theme. 'Alestir Crowley, Magician or Fool?' 'Malleus Maleficarum'(1) 'History of the Necromancer' 'Vampyr' 'The Occult for Dummies' 'Fallen Angels' 'Lucifer's Plummet' were all among the titles.

She sat on the floor and flipped through the pages for hours, searching for anything that even remotely resembled the rituals of the murder or the images of her vision, finally she grunted in frustration and hurled a book at a wall, she hung her head and sighed, made a short prayer and got back up to retrieve the book.

As she picked up the leather bound volume, she noticed a tiny matchbox next t it, one that apparently was used as a bookmark. It was purple and bore a silver image of a scorpion, as well as an address and a title, **_'Club MIDNITE'_**

* * *

Angela pulled her SUV up across the street from the address on the matchbox. She pondered if she got the address right as she stepped out of her car and walked the door, which was a large gate lodged between a drugstore and a butcher shop, there was no doorman nor a sign of any kind.

She walked through the gate and saw a stairs leading down. Red lights lining both sides, at the bottom the landing was in burgundy carpeting and a bouncer of daunting proportions stood, she could hear the sound of loud rock music coming so she knew she was at the right place.

"'Evening." said Angela as she slipped the bouncer a twenty-dollar bill and tried to slip in.

"Sorry." said the bouncer as he handed her the bill back and blocked her exit.

"LAPD." said Angela as she flashed her badge.  
"Do you have a warrant?" asked the bounce after a beat.  
"No, but"  
"This is an Exclusive club, miss. You have to get permitted"  
"So how do I get permitted"  
"You guess what's on the back of this card."

Angela was struck by the request but opted to play along as the bouncer produced a card from a deck and held it up with the patterned side shown to her. She only needed a second of focus to see the image n the other side.

"A four headed dog on a boat."

The bouncer stepped out of the way and said, "Welcome to the club."

_'Emotionless I slip in to the black,  
and there's no turning back now,  
everyone around me smoking crack,  
this tunnel is blinding'_ (2)

The music blared as Angela walked through the club. Angela heard the name Midnite several times; she had heard John mention him a few times, mention that he had a hand in her rescue. She had also hard of his club, an infamous hangout for those powerful and shrouded in mystery, so exclusive that they didn't even book any live music.

_'Hallucinating I'm debating life, but it's still moving forward,  
if I could change the hands of time.'_

She was certainly intrigued; the place combined several clashing styles, part Early American speakeasy, part Electro night club, and part African tavern. Crosses and Crescents and many other symbols were carved everywhere.

But the decor was not the frightening aspect of the place, but it was the patrons themselves, she could feel the hearts of fire in those who were demons, and the halo of light surrounding those angels, and as she could see them, she knew they saw her back. The Demons sent her frightening vibes that brought a clear idea of what they intended, an the Angels showered her with their calming effect, so between the two, their effect was evened up and cancelled out and she was still as nervous as she was when she walked down the stairs.

_'Well I'd do it better,  
Just walk away,  
just walk away.'_

_She walked to where_ she speculated Midnite's office would be, behind a massive leather paneled door, but as she was waiting, it opened and out walked a young man, clean shaven with red hair.

"Hello Angela." he said casually as he walked of.

"How do you know my... name?"

The man had disappeared so she turned back to the door and walked in.

The man before her struck her as elegant, suave, intimidating, and extravagant and with lots of dignity and an unconventional fashion sense, h looked at her as if awaiting an explanation.

"Mr. Midnite," she said, "Hello, I'm An-"  
"I know who you are, Detective." said Midnite in his accented deep voice; "You're John Constantine's friend."  
"That's right."  
"He'd out of town. I assume you need some consultation about the murder of the journalist today?"

Angela didn't know what to say.

"Word travels fast in these circles." explained Midnite.  
"I see. That's exactly why I'm here."  
"Please." said Midnite as he pointed at a nearby leather chair, "May I interest you in some Scotch?"  
"No, thanks. I was wondering if you have any idea who might it have been."

"Lieutenant, there are four kinds of people who com into my house. Those who are Angels, those who are Demons, those who were endowed with powers at their birth; like you and those with great knowledge and accumulated power, like me. And none of the above has a habit for talking about who they ritualistically killed."

"I suppose not, I was just wondering who has a method of action similar to the murder; perhaps you have a cult or secret society."

Midnite pondered for a few moments, "May I see pictures?"

Angela removed some pictures of the crime scene from her jacket pocket and slid them across the desk to Midnite, who looked at them emotionlessly, as if he was reading the morning paper.

"He died from severe bleeding caused by a chunk of his flesh being torn from his stomach. His fingers were cut, only four were left, I think it may be a Satanic cult calling card."  
"That's possible."

Midnite studied the pictures some more, "He had four digits left, you ay"  
"Yes, why?"

Midnite dropped the pictures and turned to the drawers of his desk, where h produced a deck of cards; Tarot cards.

"Look familiar?" said Midnite, as he raised a single card, which depicted a man hung from a tree branch by his right foot, while his hands were bound behind him. It looked exactly like Hawley Mathews body at the scene of the crime.

"It's a reenactment"  
"So, I see. But what is the meaning"  
"The symbolism points to divinity, linking it to the death of Christ in Christianity and the stories of Osiris in Egyptian Mythology and Mithras of Roman Mythology. In all of these stories, the destruction of self brings life to humanity; on the card, these are symbolized respectively by the hanged man and the living tree from which he swings. Hence, the Hanged Man represents the sanctity of all existence and its need for salvation by self-sacrifice"  
"Come again?"

Midnite smiled darkly.

"It appears that the Killer sees that the victim needs to sacrifice himself for the grater good, very possibly he was going to uncover something that whoever the killer was working for thought should stay hidden."

"And the severed fingers"  
"Time will tell, once the bodies start to appear in abundance"  
"Excuse me"  
"This isn't the last one, is it?"

Angla was taken aback, "I looked into his dead eyes, and yes, there will be more."

* * *

Angela looked at her watch as she climbed into her car, which indicated 1 a.m.; she turned the keys in the ignition and started to dive off, when her phone started ringing.

"Hello?" she answered.  
"_Good Evening, Lieutenant."_

The voice was ominous, sinister and androgynous, what's worse is that it was the vice from her vision.

"You're the Killer.."

The Killer laughed, "Very good, what they say about you is true, you do see"  
"And who would you be, or what? Demon? Satanist? Disgruntled Angel"  
"It would be too easy to tell you. By now I bet you've discovered the significance of my work"  
"The Hanged Man"  
"Bravo. You're of to a good start"  
"I assume this isn't a prank call and you want to say something"  
"Yes, about this time, Victim Number two is about to meet a horrible death."

"Where?"

Angela heard the sound of animalistic growling on the other line followed by the sound of trains.

"You're the psychic. Have a pleasant Law Enforcing."

The Killer hung up.

* * *

The Second murder featured the death of a man of his late twenties, extremely well built mauled by a lion, both the lion and the victim were chained to a wall in an ally, the whole crime scene was too much to believe, and even though it had no resemblance to the other murder, Angela knew for certain that it was by the same killer. 

The lion was sedated and taken away by animal control department workers, allowing the Detectives to inspect the crime scene.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" asked Detective Xavier.  
"It's the same guy as this afternoon's"  
"The Hell it is. What makes you think so?" said Libowitz.

Angela took two cards out of the deck Midnite gave her, the First was Number twelve; the Hanged Man. And the second was number eight; Strength, which depicted a man spreading a lion's jaw open.

The Body had the number '8' carved into the palm of its hand that was chained to the wall.

"Any idea how many are left?" asked Xavier discretely.  
"Twenty if we don't get him fast."

* * *

(1) The Book whivch translates to 'Hammer of Witches' was an actaull book published by the catholic church during the inquisition.

(2) The Song is Puddle of Mudd's Said.


	3. The Magician

Here is chapter three, hope you enjoy it, as you know, reviews are welcomed.

* * *

Detective Libowitz waltzed into Lt Dodson's office and slammed down a News Paper, it showed the cards of the Hanged Man and Strength on the first page and the Title; 'Fortune Killer stalks LA'.

"Fortune Killer?" scoffed Angela as she was reading police reports, "That's precious, sounds like Fortune Teller but with a twist. It's kind of childish and juvenile but still catchy."

"Though you might like it."

Libowitz left the office, leaving Angela to pin the article on a bulletin board behind her, along with several other articles and the two tarot cards so far, Strength and the Hanged Man.

Hours passed, the precinct getting the usual calls, officers came and left, felons passed in plenty. All the time Angela sat in her office studying everything she had on the two victims, desperately seeking a link, a place, or a date where the two lives met. But it appears only they knew.

"Lt Dodson?"

Even before she looked up, she knew he was a young man with short red hair and blue eyes. He wore a gray well tailored suit and his badge on his waist. Angela felt a sense of familiarity, almost sure she met the man before, but she attributed it to Dejavoe.

"Yeah?"  
"I'm sorry, I imagined you were some old Irish guy. I don't mean that-"

"Sorry to disappoint," said Angela, "And you are?"

"Oh!" he said and handed her a dossier, "I am Det. Michael DeMiurgos. Newly transferred to the precinct."

"Well, good to have you onboard, Detective. You should hand this to the Captain." said Angela as she handed him the dossier and went back t her reports.

"I already did, he pointed me here."

"Why?"  
"I'm your new Partner."  
"What?"  
"Det Xavier is taking his leave, and-"  
"Right. See you around."

Angela got up from her desk and stormed to the Captain's office, who was having a phone call with the Police Commissioner.

"We need to talk, Watford."

Captain Watford(1) starred at her for a second then spoke into the receiver, "I'll call you back, Jerry. Goodbye."

He hung up the phone and spoke to Angela, "I expect this is about your new partner."

"Yes, I don't ant him."  
"That's cold of you; you didn't even give him a chance."  
"Watford, I work with Xavier alone, he understands how I function and won't question me."

"Xavier is going to the Belize, Angie. He's been on the job for three years, the bastard deserves the rest."

"By that as it is, you can't just drop a rookie on my lap and expect me to show him the ropes."  
"Det DeMiurgos graduated at the top of his class from the Academy, just like you. And he comes highly praised by his ex-Commissioner."

"You know, I bet he's a great cop. Bit I don't want him, period."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." said Det DeMiurgos as he appeared in the doorway, "I really believe I can surpass your expectations if you just give me a chance."

Angela paid no attention to him and bolted outside to where Xavier stood cleaning out his desk.

"Robert."  
"Hey Angela." he said with a smile that faded once he saw her stern sharp glare.

"Belize? We have a killer in the city and you're going to Belize?"

He pulled her aside and talked to her softly.

"This all came out of blue, I bought the ticket yesterday morning, on a whim and a few hours later I found out I won. You know about my problems with Carla, were on the verge of a divorce, I thought this might be a chance to work things out with her."

Angela could read Robert very well, she knew what had turned up with him, and it wasn't his marriage, not just about it anyway. The Detective was finished, in twenty-fine years on the force he'd seen too much filth and inhumanity to go one day, and the ticket to Belize was the outing that he wanted, a true blessing from above.

"Fine, go, have fun."

"Angie.."

"Just go, were alright. Go."

She forced a smile and punched him lightly on the arm, "Give Carla my regards."

Xavier exhaled in relief and nodded his head at her. She turned around, and headed out, passing the rookie on her way.

"Are you coming?"

* * *

Angela's Trailblazer shot through the streets of LA, with Detective DeMiurgos in the passenger seat, both were silent and rarely talked. Angela tried to get a read on his emotions but strangely couldn't dig up anything. 

The silence grew unbearable, so she asked,

"So, where are you from?"  
"San Francisco." he said.

"Born and raised?"

"Actually I was born here, but moved when I was a month old."  
"Know a Detective Omar Williams? We went to the Academy Together."

"Sorry, No."

"Why did you move here?"  
"Got sick of working in the vice division, then I got divorced and I thought I needed a fresh start."  
"Not the best place, if you ask me."

The silence returned once again.

"Detective, my next Question may come as a shock tom you, but what do you believe in?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"What do you believe in?"

Already she regretted asking the question. He curled his lips in a sign that he was picking his words.

"I believe.. In the protection of Individuals and public interest, and uphol-"  
"I didn't mean that!" she said, "What are you personal beliefs?"

"You mean religiously?"  
"Yes."  
"My parents were devout atheists, if there is such a thing. But I try to keep an open mind, Y'Know? I sometimes believe there are some things science can't measure, something beyond us."

"Good enough." she said as she slowed down and parked next to a pharmacy.

"Were here."

"Were where?" DeMiurgos asked.

She walked down the stairs to club Midnite, the bouncer raised the card.

"Two Ducks in a Cloud."

She took simply pleasure in imagining Michael trying to guess.

The regulars were there, The Demons were drinking beer by the keg, The Angels turned water into wine, Vampires drank blood, everyone was doing their own thing. She head straight for Midnite's office and pushed the paneled door open.

"Detective. Welcome back."

Midnite was standing over an old contraption, that looked something like a globe but had strange regions and words written on it, names like: Abbadon, Hades, Grimora, Navihyme, Wadin, Jahanam and many others.(2)

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's the map of hell," he said simply, "I'm trying to find out if any high ranking demon could have done this."

Moments passed as he scanned it with his eyes and ran a ebony staff of the globe,

"No use," he finally said, "I can't get a read."

He put a drop cloth over it and sat to his desk, "So, I guess 'Strength' is off the list."

The door opened and Michael walked in.

"What? How did you get in?"

"I slipped th bouncer a hundred."

"And he took it?" Midnite asked furiously, "ANTON!"

Anton, a tall black man entered, he and Midnite exchanged a few words in french and Anton left. Probably to fire the bouncer or do something worse.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Angela said, "This is Detective Michael DeMiurgos, Detective, meet Papa Midnite."

"Hello."

Midnite didn't say anything and just glared, he didn't like normal folk being in his House.

"Detective, do you mind waiting outside?"

"Yes, I do."

Angela looked at him sternly.

"Fine."

Michael left.

"Never bring him here again." Midnite told her.

"He's my new partner, and I won't."  
"Whose the new victim?"  
"Charles Griffin, a body Builder. Had an 8 carved into his hand. Eaten alive by a lion."

"Can't you find him through the lion?"  
"You mean like find out who had access to a lion and missing animal reports? We're doing that, It'll take us some time to find out. This IS LA; you can get your hands on a Mummy if you have the money."

"I've taken interest in the case," said Midnite as he took out an Illegal Cuban cigar and lit it, "I want to help you see it through. I've been talking to my sources, and of what I hear, whoever is doing it is doing it alone, the King of Hell has not commissioned it."

Angela's phone rang; she answered it and talked with Libowitz for a couple of minutes then hung up.

"We might know who stole the lion; I'm going to the suspects place now."

* * *

Two squad cars and some officers including Libowitz were outside the apartment building by the time Michael and Angela arrived, he had the warrant in his hands. 

"Ready when you are, Lieutenant."  
"Got a warrant already?"  
"Are you kidding? Judge Hepburn was way too eager."

The suspect was Simon Messing, Thirty-nine, with no known profession, but whatever it was, it was lucrative enough for him to afford a nice apartment. He supposedly stole the lion from a Zoo in an Upstate town. He had a few priors, mostly related to Con Artistry, which was a lot like Constantine.

They stood out his door, called for the man but he was either absent or reluctant to answer, so the ram was brought and the wooden door was shattered by the force of officers holding it, and the policemen rushed into their apartment, drawing their guns, prepared for fierce resistance.

"LAPD, Don't M- Oh God!"

One cop hunched over and vomited onto the floor, two others retreated through the door, running as fast they could. Some drew the sign of the cross in the air, while Angela, Michael and Libowitz only starred in disgusted awe.

A corpse sat at a chair, it's right index finger raised in the air, pointing heavenward. Before it was a table, covered with some scrolls, talismans, amulets… magical paraphernalia.

The nightmarish side of it all was that the body itself had rotted considerably, or o it seemed, parts of it were on the floor, and a bloody wound was in the chest.

"The Magician."

* * *

Author's notes:  
(1) Det Insp Watford was a character from the Hellblazer comics, a friends of John's, a veteran policeman. 

(2) The names mentioned are names of Hell in several cultures.


	4. The Lovers

Omar looked out the window of his room and squinted in rage, something dark was building up inside him; untamed rage. 

A student at college insulted his ethnic background, which urged him to engage in a fight which ended in an academic probation.

This whole town sickened him; the golden city boasting of its diversity still couldn't look beyond the color of your skin, what else would matter besides the exterior anyway in this city?

He heard his aging uncle, the soon to be retired Officer Jamal, enter through the front door and call for him.

"Yes, uncle"  
"Mind if you go get dinner?" his uncle said as he sat at his recliner and took off his shoes, too tired to even remove his gun.

"Sure thing."

* * *

Dr Reid, an old thin man, turned on an Ella Fitzgerald CD and then he pulled the sheet of the body of the latest victim, the Magician, who was identified as Simon Messing, a dabbler in the occult.

Angela stood eagerly awaiting the verdict. Michael stood at her side, trying not to pass out from the smell.

"Any idea about the cause of death?" asked Angela.  
"Not yet, his heart was literally torn out of chest. And by that I mean someone actually managed to crack his chest open and pull the old ticker out." answered Dr Reid as he grooved to the sound of jazz which filled the morgue.

"Was that before or after he died?" asked Michael.  
"You're kidding, right? There is no way he was alive when his chest was opened up forcefully with no anesthetic"  
"Alright, how did he get like this"  
"I'd like to say that he rotted, but that's impossible seeing as how he was seen alive a few hours before you found him, right"  
"Yeah."

"I'll tell you the truth, this is uncanny, it looks like a blend of leprosy, flesh eating bacteria, internal combustion added with a good acid shower. This is one for the books. Do you think it would be okay if I wrote an article about this"  
"Better ask the Captain."

Michael and Angela walked out and took a whiff of clean air.

"Off to Midnite"  
"What"  
"Papa Midnite's, I asked around about the guy, rumor has it he's a witch."

Angela was peeved, but she just looked the young detective in the eyes and said,

"Detective, there are more things to this case than what meets the eyes"  
"Sure, I'm not complaining or anything. This case does smell like that kind of stuff, you know, magic."

"Just keep this between us, okay"  
"Okay. Hey, what's the deal with those cards anyway?"

Angela's phone rang, she answered,

"Dodson"  
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

It was him, the fortune killer.

"Hello."

She turned to Michael and said, "Do you Mind"  
"Not at all." said Demiurgos as he walked off beyond an earshot.

"Still lagging behind I see"  
"Why are you doing this"  
"By now you surely know I'm beyond human, what's exactly am I and what is my agenda is really your guess, perhaps I'm preparing to raise an army and wipe out mankind or perhaps I'm simply entertaining myself, through creating carnage and watch you turn in circles, in an endless pursuit to catch me."

Angela could glimpse something in her mind as the killer spoke, something she couldn't really see.

"There is a new victim"  
"Is there?"

The image grew a little clearer and she could see something, a woman and a man.

"No, two"  
"Bravo."

The killer hung up, a sudden though occurred to Angela.

"Detective," she called after Michael, "Do you mind doing me a favor"  
"No, what is it"  
"I need you to get a list of my incoming calls for the past six days. Don't ask why."

Michael looked confused, but nodded and headed to his desk.

* * *

Omar crossed the street to his building, his rage boiling from the inside, again he was met with looks of disgust and bigoted whispers, a sudden sense of wrath and the desire to set fire somewhere appeared in him. It was not like him to have such ideas, he usually preferred to believe that the people of LA were good natured, and that intolerance was uncommon, he did experience such treatment in the past, but this was the first time he ever felt like that.

A squad car was parked outside; he paid it little attention and walked up the stairs with the take out food in his hands.

The door to his uncle apartment was open, two uniformed cops were arguing with his uncle, who still wore his uniform as well.

"What's going on?" asked Omar.  
"They say I stole drugs from an evidence locker." said Jamal, clearly in shock.

"You're coming with us, Jamal. You have the right to remain silent..." said one of the cops as he took out a pair of handcuffs.

"What? No he didn't!" barked Omar, "My god, he's retiring in a week"  
"Shut up, kid!"

"..You have the right to an attorney..."

"Like hell you're takin' 'em, let 'em go!" yelled Omar as he bolted towards his uncle, the other cop punched Omar in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Towel-Head!" cursed the cop in hate.

"Hey, don't you touch him!" yelled Jamal as he head butted the cop handcuffing him and went to take down the other cop.

A punch stopped him in his tracks and took him off his balance; he staggered back through the apartment door and tripped, and rolled down the apartment door and broke his neck at the bottom.

"NOOO!" cried Omar as he ran down the stairs.

"Jesus, Chuck!" cursed the first cop, "He's dead, his neck is all broken!"

"Hey kid, better come down to the precinct with..."

Omar was too filled with rage to listen to the voice of reason; all the rage that was building up inside him culminated in pure contempt, his sanity went through the window as the urge to kill filled him. He took his uncle gun out of its holster and ran up the stairs, pushing his shoulder into the cop's torso and knocking him down, then going to attack the other cop, shooting him through the window.

"Hey, Pig!"

The other cop looked up in fear at Omar who pointed the gun barrel at him, "Drop the gun."

Chuck couldn't help but oblige, "You're never going to get away with this."

"Neither will you." answered Omar in complete rage.

"You're not going to shoot me"  
"Won't I?"

Chuck knew he was far gone enough to actually do it.

"Get up, Asshole."

* * *

Michael handed Angela the call sheet and watched her look through it.

It had suddenly occurred to her to look for the killer's number, he seemed cocky enough to use his own phone, and he didn't expect her to tell anyone she was being contacted by the killer she's after.

She was surprised to find nothing at all; there was no listing of any incoming call this afternoon or late night a few days ago when the killer called her.

"Son of a Bitch."

Even after over a year of getting her powers back, she still was caught off guard by them everyone in a while. She rubbed her eyes and asked, "Any news on the Lion?"

"Still looking," answered Michael, "The tip about Simon Messing doing it was unreliable, probably the killer himself set it up to catch us off guard with another murder."

Angela couldn't help but feel powerless, waiting for news to come in about a fourth crime in which a man and a woman were killed, she already knew it would be the lovers, the sixth card of the tarot deck. She didn't even begin to fathom how she could begin to catch a supernatural killer with the ability to operate so fast, killing someone every night for the past few days, without leaving a single trace, but an image of horror and carnage he has created.

Det Libowitz walked in and said, "Did you hear"  
"About what?" asked Michael.

"Murray and Stevens got a tip Detective Jamal Salem stole the drugs from the evidence locker a week ago, and when they show up to his place, they end up braking the poor bastards neck and his nephew shot Murray off the fifth floor"  
"Oh my god!"

"He didn't die for a while, he broke his back on the top of a wall and hung there and bled till he died.

"Jesus!" said Angela to herself, Officer Jamal was well liked in the precinct, he was a forty year veteran on the force and worked with her father even, he was one of the old school cops whose honor mattered more than everything else, It was impossible for him to have done that. But Murray and Stevens were good cops as well and respected Officer Salem, they wouldn't have framed him.

The nephew on the lamb should turn himself in soon, though Angela, a cop killer is very prone to be killed by any overzealous cop.

She got up and crossed the distance to Salem's desk and while no one was watching, she took a picture of him and his nephew out of its frame and slid it into her pocket, then headed back to her office. Det DeMiurgos was about to tell her something, but she already knew what it was.

"New Victims"  
"Yeah, Ho"  
"Your face is an open book, Detective. Let's ride."

* * *

This time, there was no feeling of awe or shock, the policemen assigned to the case had gotten used to the macabre murders that happened through the past days.

The two victims this time were a married couple of their late forties, Adrian and Eva Verne were their names. Their living room was cleared of all furniture and a triangle was carved into the hard wood floor, the couple was stripped from their clothes and each had a left or right foot missing, the remaining feet were chained together, making it impossible for them to escape. The cause of death was not clear. Angela didn't have to look far to see the number six as it was carved in the middle of the triangle, on the floor between the couple.

"The Number six," said Libowitz, "Like 666, right? From the Omen"  
"Actually it's the number of the 'Lovers' Tarot Card which features Adam and Eve in Heaven with the Devil in snake form wrapped around the forbidden tree. The chains might serve as a tie in to the 'Devil' card, which shows an Incubus and a Succubus with their necks chained to a rock on which the devil is crouched."

"Please!" scoffed an officer, but a stern look from Angela put him in his place and he retreated to the outside.

"Jesus Christ!"

The same cop took out his gun and fired at something, a snake which suddenly appeared and slithered away. The cop went after the snake reloading his gun.

Libowitz punched the officer to the ground, "Are you crazy?" he yelled, "You wanna kill us with that thing."

A fight ensued between the policemen, their partners attempted to calm them both.

For an outside observer, it would have become very clear that nerves were extra tensed on the recent day, confrontations had become very common. All the time, Angela didn't pay attention, as she was literally somewhere else.

**---------------------**

The surroundings were a fiery orange and red, it was Hell. She could see a woman, on top of whom something Animalistic, Demonic and Brutal was hunched, tearing her apart, slowly. She can feel the woman in pain. She inched closer, trying to see the creature for what it was.

It could be best described as being tall and very thin, except for its arms which were very muscular; its entire body was covered in dark hair. It's hands and feet were claw like, it was generally hound like. Its head was that of a wolf and had fiery eyes and two sets of short horns.

Suddenly the creature turned around and stared at her for a second, she knew at that second that it was the fortune Killer, somehow it was it.

"Whore." it hissed at her, in that voice that spoke to her several times already, though this time it was clearly that of a male.

"You make the mistake of wandering into my domain."

He suddenly lunged at her, but she flew away, literally A pair of powerful arms lifted her up and flew her away from the Demon, she couldn't turn around to see who was it, but the chest behind her was firm and manly, in which a heart bat calmly. She caught a glimpse of black wings fluttering, it was an Angel.

"Very well, whore. Be gone. It's not your time anyway." said the Demon as Hell disappeared from her sight and the Angel let go of her.

**---------------------**

She saw Michael staring at her, so she quickly told him that the killer was picking up the pace, and he would be killing again, very soon.


	5. The Moon, Star, Tower and The Chariot

Delia Moon, Thirty Seven years old, a Freelance Photographer...

The newest victim, discovered just hours after The Lovers were found, was found in her bath tub, which was filled with scorpions.

It was probably not a coincidence that the Fortune Killer had chosen the 'Moon' Tarot card for her final suffering. Angela realized she was the woman she saw in hell being ravaged by whatever Demon was behind all this.

Number Eighteen was drawn in her blood on the linoleum floor.

The Victim was obviously drugged while the Scorpions stung and dug into her flesh, her eyes were gouged yr as well by the killer no doubt.

Again as she looked into the body, she knew that the next victim would be discovered soon. It was eight in the evening and she was certain the next victim was to die before the brake of dawn.

"Lieutenant," said Michael, "We have a witness."

A glimmer of hope rose in the policemen's hearts.

"Who is he?"  
"A neighbor, he said he saw a man leaving the apartment earlier today."

After interrogating the witness who claimed that he talked with Miss Moon in the morning and left when she was visited by some man by the last name Wallen, who was bald, 5'11", and drove a Red BMW convertible. He left her and she didn't appear ever again. Upon searching the apartment they found an address of a man by the name Buckland Wallen.

* * *

Omar clutched his Uncle's gun as his hosts walked into the basement apartment he was hiding in. After abducting that policeman yesterday, he had managed to escape and sough after a friend of his, who in turn pointed him towards shady connections of his.

"Put that piece down, College Boy." said Tariq the first to come in, "You're among friends."

"Right." said Omar as he laid the gun down, "So, is he..?"  
"Dead?" asked Aicha, a girl who came in, "Most Definitely, and not even in one peace."  
"Oh god!"

"It'll be no the news as soon as they can figure out a way to make us look like animals and bloodthirsty, heartless terrorists. The next few days are going to be rough." said Jack, who was Omar's college friend.

"Can you give me a ride?" asked Omar after a pause.  
"Where to?" asked Tariq.  
"I'm turning myself in, it's the right thing."

"Fuck the right thing!" Aicha barked, "You think you're the only one? This shit has been happening al the time the past few days. A black kid got beaten up for speeding on Santa Monica last night, a bunch of Neo-Nazis trashed an Arab Grocery Store and the cops didn't do shit! They're showing their true colors for some reason."

"So what know?" asked Omar.  
"They're coming after all of us, were all you have," said Tariq, "Being a cop killer, they'll come after you to make a statement, and we got to hit back. Some gangs are joining up with us, the Mexicans, The Blacks, and The Koreans. Everyone wants a peace of fascist pork. It's going to be a fucking blood bath."

Aicha, Tariq and Jack went to leave, and just as he was in the doorway, Tariq said "I knew your uncle you know, as far as cops go, he was a real Jem. Thing is, he's dead. And right now, you have to do the best with the cards you've got."

* * *

"Simon Messing was a known Magician," said Midnite as he poured himself some Bourbon, Angela herself had a Vodka Stinger despite being on the job, "He was a once in a month customer."

He gazed upon pictures from the crime scene of the Magician as well as the two more recent ones, "This looks like he was trying a particularly difficult peace of magic, one that he couldn't handle, and the spell ended up consuming him."  
"Consuming him? So it was self inflicted?"  
"I don't know, really. I've just saw this thing all the time, someone finds an old spell with a major pay off, he gets cocky and the adrenaline rush is too much to bear, they miscalculate and die. The thing is, Simon Messing wasn't a beginner, he was a full fledged Warlock, he knew better, which means he was ether in grave danger that he had to use that spell, or he was tricked into it."

"What about the vision you mentioned?" asked Midnite.  
"I was in Hell, I saw a Demon ripping apart the Moon victim. I'm sure it was the killer, somehow."  
"How did it look like?"  
"Like a Werewolf with Horns. Ring any bells?"  
"No, I'll have to check. Didn't it try to attack you?"  
"It did but, there was an Angel, it saved me."  
"An Angel? Who was it?"  
"It didn't say, I didn't even get a good look."

"I'll try to identify the demon right away, keep me posted."

* * *

Angela wasn't out of club Midnite for ten minutes before her phone rang with Michael telling her there had been a new victim.

The squad cars parked in front of the Starr Plaza Hotel, where the most recent victim was hung by a chain from a thirtieth floor balcony, and he himself was set on fire, he was dead for sure by this point but he still burned and could be seen from a great distance, later it would be learned that he was a famed Jazz Singer playing at the Hotel for the night, known as Edgar Roberts.

The media had already arrived, and were already interviewing Captain Watford, who very unsatisfied, and brushed them off with a no comment.

"Lieutenant," he said sternly, "Mind telling me where have you been?"  
"I was checking out a lead." answered Angela.  
"That Bartender? It's bad enough that this guy is painting the town red, I don't need you booking on the job."  
"What? Ho-"  
"Never mind how! The Commissioner is breathing down my neck, asking how did this guy manage to get to kill off seven people, seven respectable people in four days."  
"You'll have to ask him when we get him, Sir." said Angela, realizing they would never get him, he could not be caught, but his streak could be stopped.

"For both our sakes, I hope we get him soon."

Watford left as the burning corpse was extinguished and lowered down. Angela saw the Commissioner from a distance eyeing the body in fear; she couldn't help but sense something off about the whole thing.

She walked over to him, and he acknowledged her as she came close, "Commissioner Brusard.."  
"Detective."  
"It's Lieutenant actually..."  
"We'll see about that."

Angela ignored the threat of demotion and went to talk to him some more, but he interrupted her by saying, "Unless you start exercising that excellent police work I've been hearing about, I think your career might take a turn to the dramatic."

Commissioner Brusard left her, but only after allowing her a glimpse into his soul, which was very troubled and full of fear. The Commissioner had a personal concern regarding the matte, one that seemed out of place, like he feared he was next.

Like a sensation of falling down a volcano shaft, Angela felt alarmed and turned around to see a body falling onto the Commissioner's car, which he was a few feet away from at the time. The attention of the cameramen and reporters then focused onto the new corpse, Captain Watford ordered his men to head into the Hotel and secure the area. Meanwhile, a hellish look of panic and fear spread al over the Commissioner's face and he backed off and ran away.

Angela spotted a Black Truck with tainted windows starting up and barreling down the street, acceleration quickly and shooting towards the Commissioner, who was oblivious to the oncoming threat, and didn't hear Angela's warning, and only saw the truck for a second before it slammed into him and trapped him under its tires, then dragged him away into the night.

* * *

People from different races, Black, Latino, Asian, Middle Eastern and others, stood armed with clubs, knives and Molotov cocktails before an equal crowd of Anti-riot police armed with batons and shields.

Between the two legions, stood a leader of each, Tariq and some Police Lieutenant.

"What's it going to be, son?" asked the Lieutenant.  
"I'm not your fuckin' son," answered Tariq, "And none of us is standing down, period."  
"I don't think you get it, kid."  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Yeah, you're lucky I'm even giving you a chance to talk."  
"Here I was thinking you were trying to get your fascist foot soldiers from getting killed."  
"Look, Omar Shahen is wanted for Murder! We're here to make sure he is apprehended, and if any of you try and stop us, we'll have to remove you, it's the law."  
"Your boys were trying to frame one of ours of a false charge, and ended up killing him. If they had contained their bigotry none of this would have ever happened. So fuck the law." said Tariq as he gave the Lieutenant the finger at the end.

Both returned to their troops, while Omar pinched his eyes and said, "I don't want this, this won't change anything. I might as well turn myself in."  
"Too late for that." said Aicha as she lifted her bat up.

A plastic bullet was fired, and Tariq fell to the ground bleeding from the neck, this caused mass rage and then, in the city of angels, on a sunny afternoon, the gates of Hell swung wide open, and the infernal end of days poured out.


	6. The Sun

Judge Hepburn fell into his swivil chair.

"Dead?" he asked across the cell phone.

"Yes, Sir. Buckland Wallen, Edgar Roberts and Commissioner Jerry Brusard. Is something wrong?"

Judge Hepburn dropped the fun and buried is head in his hands, all what was around him vanished as he succumbed to the fear within, the hellish sensation of the teeth almost clutched around his throat.

He could predict how he would die, the card was before him at the moment; Justice. Numbered Eleven or XI according to the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot Deck. It fit with his persona perfectly.

He was hoping that whatever it was, the Police Department would catch it, he had heard the rumors that the Detective of the Case was a Psychic, and truly hoped she could stop it. But then fate took a turn, the riots had started in the city, shifting the police department's resources to handle the looting and vandalism going on. Also, the FBI would soon take charge of the case instead of Lieutenant Dodson. Further diminishing his chances of survival. He had only one hope left.

He mustered the will to pick up a pen and an undistinguished peace of paper, on which he wrote eight words.

'Andrew Moreau Hepburn,

Robin Wayland,

Garth James Mason.'

He folded the piece of paper and stuck it into an envelope, on which he scribbled the address of Lt Angela Dodson.

A few hours passed, and suddenly, there was no more Judge Hepburn.

--------------------------

The Tower Victim turned out to be none other than Buckland Wallen, killed by a forced fall from a thirty-five story building, who was suspected in the murder of Delia Moon. The Number 16 was carved into his forehead.

The truck that abducted Commissioner Jerry Brusard was found a mile away from the scene, hooks were welded to the bottom of the truck to ensure the body would be dragged along; he died of massive wounds sustained by the accident. His right arm was torn off in the process and was found nowhere near the scene. The number seven was carved into his chest, alluding to the Chariot tarot card.

--------------------------

12, 2, 1, 6, 18, 17, 16, 7 ...

Angela sat at an Irish pub she and Isabel hung around in their twenties, she had stopped coming for some time, but she felt a sudden urge to be somewhere away from everything, the riots, the murders...

She gazed upon the numbers she had scribbled on the peace of paper, they were the numbers of the tarot cards that had happened so far, except for the first three if the final four, were completely random.

L.B.A.F.R.Q.P.G. ...

The letters that corresponded were no help either.

This morning, Captain Watford had given her news she was off the Fortune Killer Case. He put her of sabbatical, even offering a sexist comment as he did so, which was highly unlikely of the Captain. It suddenly occurred to her that the city was going insane all of a sudden, with the riots and everybody showing their ugly selves.

Michael suddenly was there, he sat on the bar stool next to her and ordered a Whisky.

"Lieutenant."

"Call me Angela." she said, "What kind of name is Demiurges?"

"There have been a new murder." answered Michael, ignoring her question.

"Oh yeah?"

"Judge Andy Hepburn."

Judge Hepburn had given them a warrant to arrest Simon Messing the magician, and rather hastily which made her suspicious at the time.

She remembered something else all of a sudden, a piece of paper that she had received earlier. She reached to her pocket and pulled out the short list that had three names on it, the top being the Judge's.

"What's that?"

"A Hit list. Which has been lowered to just two names."

"Where did you get it?"

Angela paid him no attention as she drink the rest of her beer and sprang to the door, "Come on, Michael." she said, "How did Hepburn die?"

Michael hurried to catch up with her, "He had his left arm chopped of with an antique sword the same sword was used to pin him to the wall."

"The Left arm is gone?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Don't you find it strange that all the bodies have missing parts? I mean think about it, the first had his entrails spilling out on the floor. The Second was mauled by a lion. The Heart was missing from Simon messing, Delia Moon has missing a pair of eyes, the Married couple had a four fingers missing of each. Edgar Roberts was so burned that it he might had been missing something before he burned. Buckland Wallen was missing an ear, while Commissioner Brusard had a missing a right arm."

"So, you're saying that whoever is doing this has enough parts to perform a full body?"

"Not yet, and the body will be malformed."

"But why?"

"Michael, I need you to have a very open mind." she said as they got into her SUV.

------------------

"What?"

Angela had finished explaining the situation to Michael in Club Midnite.

"Think about it, how does someone manage to kill Ten People in less than a week without leaving a trace behind, and how can he be there to throw Wallen on the roof then drive the Truck to kill Brusard?"

"But..." Michael said, obviously in a loss for words. He turned to Midnite and asked, "And you would be...?"

"Papa Linton Midnite, a Witch Doctor."

"Any news on the Demon?" asked Angela.

"Not yet, with the city in chaos, it's hard to get proper intelligence." answered Midnite, "Not even my clientele are showing up, the Angels are trying to control the situation and the Demons want to make it worse."

"What about the sword?" asked Michael as he pushed forward the picture of the antique sword from the Justice murder. Midnite looked upon it and recognized it instantly.

"Second Century, Scandinavian, most likely Norse."

"You know, we shouldn't be doing this," said Michael, "Were not on the case anymore."

"I'm not sure the governments can handle otherworldly threats like this."

"Actually, the NSA used to have a covert occult division, but it's director eventually went to work for the Devil." said Midnite, "What makes you sure this isn't a trick from the killer?"

"I know Judge Hepburn wrote this, I can feel it. I guess the past victims are connected, everyone. The married couple, the Magician, the Commissioner, Judge Hepburn. I KNOW that at one point, all these had crossed paths and started the chain reaction that is culminating in these murders."

"But how?" asked Michael, "We already checked, it's very unlikely all of these men and women had crossed paths by someway other than coincidence."

"There is just one way to find out; seek out the last two on the list."

"I'll see what I can do." said Michael as he walked away.

"Can you make anything of this?" asked Angela as she handed him the napkin with the numbers and letters on it.

"I've already tired it, it's entirely random."

Angela looked at Midnite both sternly and pleadingly.

"I can try again, though."

"Thanks, I'll go talk to some informers." said Angela as she headed to leave, but Midnite stopped her in her tracks when he said, "There is another way."

"For what?" she asked as he turned around.

Midnite seemed hesitant, already regretting even thinking of what he had in mind.

"There is an item I have, which can be used to search for any person."

"What id it?"

"It's a chair... An electric chair, the one from sing-sing."

"How does it work?"

"It has to be used by someone of power. Constantine used it sometimes in the past. It emphasizes your psychic sensitivity and enables your senses to travel through time and space, allowing you to track down certain people or items."

"Well get me to it."

"It's not that easy, you might get killed."

"But you sad Constantine used it."

"Constantine had considerable control of his power at the time, which I'm not sure you have at the moment, though you are more powerful than him, which can make it easier for you."

Angela thought about i for a moment, "I'd rather not risk it right now, I want to give Michael a chance first."

"Speaking of the Devil," said Midnite, "Don't you find something off about him?"

"Off like what?"

"I donno, there is more to him than meets the eye. I guess only time will tell."

--------------------------------

A tall lean figure dragged several large bags into the top floor of an abandoned building, there were no occupants, not even homeless ones for the building was likely to crumble at any moment. The figure ripped the bags open and poured the contents onto the wooden floor of the ample and empty room, it sorted out the objects even though there was no source of light but moonlight coming from the holes in the ceiling. Arms, feet, Eyes, Ears. Next on his agenda was carve the wooden floors and splash blood on the walls, lay down a few candles and exit, heading out to do his dubious bidding.

------------------------------------

Hours later, Michael returned to her saying that no Robin Wayland was found anywhere, as Garth James Mason had been missing for years, the only remaining kin of either was Garth Mason's son.

Angela and Michael stood outside the son's apartment door, which was painted red for some reason, located in somewhat bohemian neighborhood. Michael rang the door.

"Fuck Off!" came the response, loud, angry and in a British accent.

"Mr. Mason, would you please open the door?" asked Angela.

"Fuck..." shouted Mason sharply, there was a pause and then he shouted "...Off."

Michael rang some more, footsteps were heard and the door swung open to reveal the occupant, who was thin and a bit on the short side, being as tall as Angela, he had a light beard and long black hair and wore a white shirt stained with paint. Michael raised his badge quickly.

"Oh, what do you want?" he asked as he adopted a more polite attitude at the sight of the badge.

"Are you Garth Mason Jr.?" asked Angela.

"Yes."

"We've been wondering what had com of your father."

"My what?"

"Your father."

"My father left us when I was ten. He's either dead or shacked up with some tight tart. Why?"

"We suspect he may be targeted in the Fortune murders."

"The What?"

"The gruesome murders that had the city up for the last ten days."

"Oh, those.. I've been staying in lately. I've got me hands full."

Angela looked into the apartment wreaking of the smell of paint, smooke and incense.

"Mind if we come in?"

Garth smiled kindly, stepped back into the apartment and said "Yes.", then slammed the door shut.

"Artists.."

---------------------------------

"Back to Midnite, then?" asked Michael as the two headed to their SUV.

"Looks like."

A figure was approaching from around the corner, tall thin and cloaked, allowing none of his features to be seen. He marched on the sidewalk with his hands buried into his pockets, as he passed next to them, she couldn't help but smell an odd and familiar smell.

"So what now?"

"Midnite mentioned something about a chair."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's sort of a last resort. Let's try to track down Wayland.

"You know it's weird, ten years ago Robin Wayland was on the rise, politically speaking, some said he would end up as Mayor or Governor, maybe even President. Then he fell off the face of the earth."

Angela was getting an uneasy feeling, like something horrible was going on outside her range of view.

"Slay the Future..."

The words she heard when looking into the Hanged Man's eyes filled her mind for a second. The cloaked man suddenly came back to her, and his smell soon registered as that of sulfur and blood.

"It's him!" she said as they were a few feet away from the car.

"What?"

"The man with the hood, it's the Fortune Killer!"

---------------------------------------------------------

Garth Mason was striking at his canvas with red paint, cursing at the lights which were flickering strangely, when the sudden, constant, slow and rhythmic knocking came to his ears.

"What?" he asked as he swung the door open.

The corridor outside his apartment was darker than usual, with some of the lights going off all of a sudden and only one working properly, which were right above his door. The lights cast an ominous shadow on his clocked visitors face, rendering it a peace of blackness.

"Garth Mason?" asked the visitor in a gruff, sinister, howl like voice.

"Aye, that's me."

The visitor raised an antique Scandinavian sword, one stained with dry blood.

"I've come for your flesh and soul."


	7. The Heirophant

Well, think about how Angela and John first met, he practically told her that her sister was being tortured in hell and she could do nothing about it. And the riots are connected. It's an entirely different Jack, the one from _Crimson_ was a Scottish book dealer while this one in a college student. Omar will appear eventually, probably in the Epilogue.

Michael pulled out his gun as he and Angela ran back to Garth's building, they saw the lights go dead in his window on the seventh floor and decided it may be too late.

A small hideous creature suddenly exploded out of a dumpster and headed toward Angela, Michael fired at it.

"What the Hell is that?"

"Scavenger Demon."

"You've got to be kidding me."

While the bullets seemed to slow it down, the demon kept on coming, so Angela hurled a vile of Holy Water onto it and a final bullet between the eyes sent it burning back to hell.

------------------------------------

Garth slowly choked to death as the Killer wrapped it's fingers around his throat in an Iron grip, his hand waved at his side looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, till he came upon a pair of scissors than he thrust into the arm to no avail, he then found a Zippo lighter which he flicked open and hurled it at the obscured face.

The Killer flinched and backed off, releasing Garth temporarily, then grabbing his sword which was on the floor and thrust the tip into Garth's thigh.

-------------------------------------

Angela could literally feel Garth's pain as she ran up the stairs, the smell of sulfur grew stronger as she got closer to the seventh floor.

Michael kicked the door open and fired at the cloaked man, who still stood in his place despite taking several bullets to the chest.

The Killer inched towards Michael and Angela, while the first reloaded his gun and Angela reached for a second vile of Holy Water in her pocket. Then suddenly, he turned around and ran to the window, crashing through the glass and falling from seven stories high.

Angela and Michael hurried to the broken window and looked to see The Killer running off with inhuman speed, while a pack of Scavenger Demons followed him.

"What the Hell is going on?" asked Garth as he bled on the floor.

-------------------------------------

Garth was taken to Midnite's, where Midnite treated his wound.

"Any confessions? Care to tell us about any Demonic trysts?" asked Midnite.

"What the bollocks are you on about?" asked Garth, "Before tonight I was an atheist!"

"So you're saying you had nothing to deal with demons before?" asked Angela.

"No, not at all."

"Then why was he after you?"

"I'm not a demonic Serial Killer, but I'd guess that's what Demonic serial killers do!"

"Look, Mason." started Angela sternly, "All the victims were targeted, and we had your name as one of the upcoming two victims. We know for a fact that the past victims knew each other."

"Look, Miss. I don't know what the hell all this mess is about."

"Hawley Mathews, Simon Messing, Judge Andy Hepburn, Delia Moon, Buckland Wallen, Jerry Brusard; do you now any of these names?"

"No, not at all."

"Then why was your name one of three on a list of upcoming victims?"

"My name?"

"Yes, Garth James Mason."

"That's me dad, I'm Garth ADAM Mason."

Angela was silenced.

"This is most unusual." said Midnite.

"Think so?" Garth said sarcastically.

"Why would the Fortune Killer come after him instead of his father?"

"Assuming the list is not false."

"Well it's all we got." said Angela, "Look, Mason. Can you tell us anything about the killer?"

"He smelled like Sulfur, I mean he reeked of it. He just said he'd come for my soul and flesh, he then said something strange... Nineteen."

"He said Nineteen?" asked Michael.

"Are you daft? I just said he said Nineteen!"

"Card number Nineteen; the Sun." said Midnite as he wrote the number and corresponding letter on a peace of paper with the series of victims so far.

12, 2, 1, 6, 18, 17, 16, 7, 19 ...

L. B. A. F. R. Q. P. G. S. ...

"It's another dead end."

"Not necessarily, we still have Robin Wayland. Maybe she can point us in the right direction."

"Yeah, but we don't know where she is."

"There's a solution for that."

------------------------------------------------------

"Just so I'm sure, you DO know you are about to be electrocuted in an Electric Chair, right?" asked Garth.

"Yes." said Angela as she was being strapped in by Midnite.

"I'm not sure you do."

"Would you mind stepping back, Mason?" said Midnite as he pushed Garth aside.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Midnite as he strapped Angela into the chair.

"If John could do it, then so can I."

Midnite poured a mixture of Water and Alcohol onto the floor beneath Angela's bare feet.

"This will all end in tears, I just know it!" said Garth as Midnite plugged in an electric cable.

"The process is instinctive; you'll have to learn as you go along. Good luck."

As soon as the wire hit the water, Angela felt herself as if she was torn from the chair by a powerful storm and hurled into the gulf of space, she gradually started to feel more control over her movement and found herself in a dark dungeon with nearly twenty people standing in a circle, she recognized most of them as the victims thus far, while there was two men she didn't recognize, but one had a resemblance to Garth. The twenty were in the company of a clocked figure; she could catch glimpses of the Wolf-man she saw in Hell walking through a world of Chaos with a master greater than he.

She felt a distance grow between her and the scene so she walked closer to one of the men she didn't recognize, who didn't look like Garth, and she was transported to another location, a Church in a distant City.

Suddenly, The Wolf-Man had came after her, so she instinctively tore herself from her surroundings and found herself back in the club.

"I know where he is." she said as beads of sweet ran down her skin.

----------------------------------

Garth hobbled to the back seat of the SUV, While Michael sat at the passenger seat. Midnite and Angela talked a distance away.

"Are you sure this is a Good Idea?" asked Midnite.

"Good? Maybe not, but it's the best we have, Garth seems to be taking his fathers place and there s none to tell us anything except for Wayland."

"Why don't you leave the Englishman behind? He will be well protected here."

"Something tells me it won't be enough; I just have to keep him under my sight at all times. I need you to identify the demon."

"Godspeed, then."

------------------------------------

The Killer stood in his shrine, his Scavenger demons standing at bay, no less than a hundred of them, clinging to the walls and the ceiling. A large sigil was carved onto the floor, in the middle of which was a pulpit-like structure with Chains attached to its top.

Slowly, the Killer walked over to a woman in the corner of the room, dressed in torn rags and heavily tattooed, he exchanged a few words with her in an ancient tongue and she answered him back.

The Killer then walked out with a legion of Demons following him

--------------------------------------

Garth, Michael and Angela walked down the isle at the church which was empty at the time. A lone monk was kneeling by the Cross and praying silently.

"Mr. Wayland?"

The Monk turned around slowly, staring at them blankly then understanding upon the sight of Garth.

"The Day or Reckoning is upon me I see."

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"We were all greedy," started the Monk, "The twenty of us. Some of us wanted to live, some of us wanted live with power. Your Father, Mr. Mason, was the common Bond; he brought us all to Gaun. I and Judge Hepburn were young Attorney's at the time and wanted to advance our careers rapidly to gain political power. As did Mr. Brusard. The young Couple had contracted Aids and wanted a cure. Simon Messing wanted to know of Forbidden Knowledge on the ways of Magic to pursue his Agenda. Charles Griffin wanted a cure from Polio, Miss Moon wanted to regain her sight, and so on."

"What about my father?" asked Gaun.

"It seems he and Gaun had a debt to settle, one he paid by supplying Twenty willing souls."

"And Gaun would be what?"

"Gaun is a century old witch, she was the lover of the Demon who made all this happen."

"But for what? Why does it want to have Twenty Souls?"

"It's not just the souls, but the flesh. The Demon was once one of Lucifer's stand-bearers, but a disagreement between them led the Devil to banish him into Limbo, where he would have nothing but loneliness for all eternity. The thing is; blood-thirsty, power-hungry demons don't like to be stuck in nothingness with nothing to do but themselves. He wants back in!

"In Nineteenth century Boston lived a Psychic Witch named Gaun McMullin, she had the ability to travel to Hell, where she managed to amass great Knowledge of Magic and Witchcraft. Then one day as she stumbled upon Limbo, where a powerful Demon was locked, she was instantly enthralled by him and she fell into his arms, you could say the two fell in love, if a Demon and a whore of witch could ever feel love. She vowed herself to his cause and they had fornicated in the great void. The outcome of which was that Gaun became more powerful and immortal. Understood?"

"Yes."

"

"The Demon who had a wolf man like appearance. Who was a demon Warrior who resented the Devil for Banishing hid father but did not disobey him. The Father and Son then made a pact that they would rule Mankind one day, though they needed to wait for a certain day to come, and they needed the help of humans to help The Father cross over.

"So in the eighties, Gaun gathers all of us and grants our wishes in exchange of handing our souls in. Which we agreed to. You see, for Loki to cross over, he needs a body comprised of human organs, and to have the souls of which to be used to create a portal he can use to arrive on this plane."

"And turn Earth into his own Hell?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I saw this one before."

"Alright, why is he coming after me? I wasn't there!" demanded Garth.

"I assume that for your father's debt to be wiped clean, he'd have to offer his own flesh and blood."

"The bastard!"

"And why is he going around killing all of them now, instead of waiting till they are all dead?"

"There is a small window during which he can cross over, and I guess it's coming soon. He probably thought we'd all be dead by now anyway."

"Wait, something doesn't add up. He isn't done with the tarot deck. It's just been The Hanged Man, Strength, The Magician, The Lovers, The Tower, The Moon, the Star. The Chariot and Justice. That's just nine card, what about the rest?" asked Michael.

"Well, the Tarot thing is just for show. He doesn't have to finish them at all." said the monk.

"It's a story." said Garth in revelation.

"What?"

"The tarot cards don't simply refer to the victims, but tp everyone involved."

"What do you mean?"

"The tarot cards you mentioned all point to victims, and I would be 'The Sun', which is an obvious pun. The Devil is the Demon himself, The Son could be Death and this Gaun tart could be the whatdoyecalit?"

"The High Priestess."

"And I would be the Hermit... and the Heirophant." said Wayland.

"Which leaves The Fool, Temperance, the Emperor and Empress, Judgment, and the World." said Angela.

"Wait a minute, who could the Emperor and Empress be?" asked Michael.

"Who do you think?" said Wayland with a knowing s mile, "The guy got elected as president after an Election he got the least votes in. Don't tell me that was Demon-Free."

"Twice." noted Angela.

"Oh, no!" Wayland suddenly said.

"What's wrong?" asked Angela.

"I see npt even this place can shield me from them. The end is upon me!" said Wayland then looked at Garth, "It all ends with you, if anything happens to you, it will be the end of the world as we know it."

Wayland got up from the bench and looked at the church's gate which was suddenly opened.

"RUN! You fools! You can take the truck parked at the back."

"What's going on?" asked Garth.

Angela pushed Garth away despite his objections, Michael followed as he caught on.

"What the fuck is going on!"

They looked back as they were near a back exit and saw several figure standing in the doorway, the light was coming from behind them and made only their silhouettes visible. They appeared to look like a tall cloaked person flanked by a group of growling hound-like demons. They were unable to enter onto holy ground.

Wayland stood calmly and looked up at the heaven's, a tear slid down his cheek as he implored, "Father, forgive me!"

The killer raised a massive crossbow which fired several arrows at once, each struck Wayland at a different limb or organ, with such power that it tore him from his place and sent him flying back till he was pinned to the cross, crucified.

_**--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

_**Yes, I am that evil. R&R.**_


End file.
